


no place to dream

by solfell



Series: we begin in the dark. [the maallinen-briars] [3]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Original Work
Genre: Gen, Gladiators, Selkies, Slavery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:27:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22811626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solfell/pseuds/solfell
Summary: Glimpses into the life of Hadrean Kai: a selkie without his pelt, an ex-gladiator, a tired soul.Cross-posted from tumblr.
Series: we begin in the dark. [the maallinen-briars] [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1639141
Kudos: 1





	1. Tread

**Author's Note:**

> These wet rocks where the tide has been,  
> Barnacled white and weeded brown  
> And slimed beneath to a beautiful green,  
> These wet rocks where the tide went down  
> Will show again when the tide is high  
> Faint and perilous, far from shore,  
> No place to dream, but a place to die--  
> The bottom of the sea once more.  
>  _There was a child that wandered through  
>  A giant's empty house all day--  
> House full of wonderful things and new,  
> But no fit place for a child to play._
> 
>  _Low-Tide_ by Edna St. Vincent Millay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hadrean encounters a lake after escaping Kymal

There’s an enormous lake a few days south of Kymal. He’s been running for hours, and the sun rises again. Hadrean stops at the shore, and stares out onto the blue-green-brown water. The air smells wrong—too rich with earth and dust. This isn’t the sea, but if he listens close, he can hear an echo of home.

Freedom is a bitter taste on his tongue. He is bloodstained to the point where no water can wash away the things he’s done; an observer wouldn’t see it, but he’s marked to his core. 

He scans the shoreline. Along the northeast edge of the lake is a town, far enough away that it looks like a shining spot floating on the water. He’s the only person for miles. There’s no guarantee of that, but he feels his solitude resonate against the whisper of waves.

It’s not the same, it isn’t even close, but he sheds his shirt and boots and pants, and wades into the water. Leaving his clothes on the rocky shore isn’t anything like placing his pelt in the hands of a person he thought he could trust. Walking over sand with human feet, struggling to tread water without flippers— 

Nothing will feel like who and what he used to be. He won’t even try and trick himself into believing otherwise.

If his heart was a thing that could be broken, it would’ve long ago been rent in two. His lifeblood has been drained from him over and over again. Yet, as he floats in the cold lake water, there’s a sense of returning. Not to what once was, not to the things he lost, but a returning to himself, of himself, for himself.

Years of never having a choice weigh heavy, but today he’s left behind the rags they made him wear. The city is beyond his sight. He’s swimming with limbs unaccustomed to it, but swimming all the same. He takes a deep breath and dives. 

Silence envelops him. After facing roaring crowds, jeering opponents, and harsh handlers, the quiet is a kind of grace. It soothes over the riot in his mind, sinks deep, and fill the once-parched basin of his soul.


	2. Run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After escaping, Hadrean makes his way to Westruun

He travels towards Westruun, because there aren’t many other options. He isn’t going to backtrack towards Kymal, and if he keeps going east, well. There’s only the coast and the ocean and everything he can’t have.

The people who owned him will be looking for him, he’s sure, and they won’t look inland. They’ll assume that he’s trying to go home. They don’t understand that he can’t, but there aren’t many land-dwellers who know much of anything about selkies.

He takes what solace he can from swimming along the shorelines of the Foramere Basin. It’s a meager comfort, but more than he’s had in years. 

There is a quiet town by the lake, significantly smaller than Kymal, and a lot more approachable, too. Hadrean finds lodging at an inn. The elvish proprietor regards him with curiosity, but not suspicion. He doesn’t ask any questions, happy to let them wonder but not pry in return.

There isn’t enough coin in his pocket to stay more than one night. This town is too small and too close to Kymal for him to feel safe here. Is there a place where he can feel safe again? Doubtful, but he’s going to try.

Whoever has his pelt now, they’re sure to use it sooner rather than later. As futile as it is, he’ll put as much distance between himself and his new “master” as he can. Make them work to track him down, to bring him back into chains. 

Because if Kannan Sarok still had his pelt, Hadrean would’ve been crippled days ago. His old master would’ve twisted that part of his soul and called him back, or left him in such pain that he couldn’t move. And then his cronies would hunt him. But no one’s touched his pelt since his escape. He would’ve felt it change hands; he’s felt nothing. Not even Hadrean knows if distance affects his connection to his pelt.

Westruun isn’t too far–a few days by foot, and he can travel along the Silvercut Roadway. It’s not a terrible plan overall. Westruun is the largest city in the region, and a good place to get lost, or at least not be found. Work’s always available in cities like Westruun. He only hopes that there’s no one there who will recognize him without his gladiatorial raiments.

Maybe he’ll grow out his hair, have it like he did before Kannan Sarok bought him.

The ones who know his face best are all in Kymal. By the Wildmother, he hopes they stay there.


	3. Waif

Even after winter sets in, Anya wanders the estate grounds. Sometimes Ameya, Ragnar, and Bijou trail behind her. They look like would-be adventurers, following their captain. Other times, it’s one of the older goliaths from Palebloom Hall. Kishore’s mother, more often than anyone else.

Hadrean doesn’t realize at first that cold weather doesn’t bother goliaths. It’s an unexpected thing to have in common with his neighbors. For whatever reason, the knowledge pushes him to approach Anya before she disappears on one of her jaunts.

She’s in the manor foyer, coat unbuttoned, scarf looped loose around her shoulders. Her hat looks similar to the one Kishore gave Hadrean, but it’s a dark color, contrasting with her pale hair.

Hadrean leans into her field of vision. She’s nearly as tall as him, but she’s still a child. A waifish one, at that. No surprise there. She doesn’t eat much at mealtimes, and she’s that age where kids, regardless of race, go a bit gangly.

Anya looks at him with a blank expression, edging somewhere near hollow curiosity.

“Mind if I join you?”

“Don’t you have work?”

“I do later.” He shrugs. “If you want to go alone, I won’t be offended.”

“I don’t really care,” she drones and shoves her feet into her boots, lacing them with tight precision.

“That a yes?”

“Yeah.”

They don’t really talk much. Hadrean lets Anya choose the route and she doesn’t try to walk ahead or behind him. It feels less like she’s tolerating him, and more like she’s… wordlessly sharing this small facet of her life.

Ada told him what happened to Anya’s parents and part of her herd. Hadrean assumes his colony is safe, but he’s lost the one thing that truly ties him to them. It’s not a perfect comparison, but both he and Anya are the most alone. They’ve lost their homes and communities.

When they trek back to the manor, Hadrean is possessed by the urge to tell her who and what he is. As a sign of solidarity, or trust. He’s only told Kishore so far, and she’s in the Feywild doing gods know what.

Once inside, there’s an obvious looseness in Anya’s shoulders. It’s as if breathing in icy air somehow centered her. Hadrean understands.

He wipes his boots off on the rug near the door. “Want to go explore the city sometime?”

Anya’s hands go still while she unwinds her scarf. Caution and interest share space in her expression. “Isn’t that dangerous?”

“I’ll bring my trident.”

“Okay, sure.”

She turns away, but Hadrean catches a smile flash across her face.


	4. Revive

Hadrean,

Gods, this letter is going to get very strange, very quickly, but bear with me, will you? I’m attempting to write this all in one go, and not fuck around with different versions or rewrites, so prepare yourself.

If this handwriting looks familiar but isn’t quite right, there’s a reason for that. It’s Epiphany, but I’m writing with… new hands. I wish I could talk to you in-person, but no one’s too keen on going to Westruun these days. Not with all those new nonsense laws you’ve got in place. I wouldn’t make it past the front gates.

Anyway, a letter is better than nothing, right? I know I died. And I was dead for a few days. They buried me, and then Knell brought me back. A reincarnation, he said. One of his fancy druid spells. 

You know better than most how a person can still be themselves even if they look different than normal. I understand that better, too. I’m a tiefling now, which is actually really good. I’ve never enjoyed having a body until now. I got shorter! I’m blue! I need glasses now!

Anyway, I died. Yes. But I _meant_ to die. I planned on it. I just wasn’t sure how, since I wanted to do as much damage as possible to my father before dying. Those newcomers in Cinder gave me—gave both of us—the perfect opportunity to escape Kannan.

I knew if I told you, you’d get angry and sad and you’re already angry and sad by default. Also, you’d try to convince me otherwise and I didn’t want to hear it. 

Speaking of not wanting to hear things, I bet you’re reading this in disbelief. It looks like a mean sort of trap. Anyone who can use a forgery kit could be writing this, right? I don’t have any real proof and even seeing me in person doesn’t prove anything. Dammit, I didn’t think this part through, did I? Of course I can stage my own death, no problem, but write a letter to a friend—my best friend, no less—afterwards? Nope!

Alright, I guess we have to meet up in-person at some point, because I know things only the real Epiphany would know. Lots of things only I would know. Even if someone rifled through my brain for information, I know more than anything they could dig up. About you, about my family, about… a lot of things. 

I’m sorry I didn’t tell you my plans. I’m sure thinking I’m dead hurts. I’m also sorry I’ve let you grieve for this long. 

It wasn’t fair to wait, but I needed to make sure I was safe before trying to contact you. Besides that, you’re a hard man to track down. That’s good, but if I can find you, then I’m sure my dad knows where you are, too. Or he will soon. If you’re still in Westruun, you should stay there. It’s Clasp territory, which is probably the biggest thing keeping Kannan off your back.

I’d like if you wrote me back, just so I know how you’re doing. If, by some miracle, you believe any of this and want to meet up, I know a nice little cafe in Emon. It’s super visible, right along a main road, and we can have a good talk there.

Hope you’re doing well, even though everyone knows that Westruun sucks!

Epiphany


End file.
